


Pretty Flowers

by ohthislove



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 19:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthislove/pseuds/ohthislove
Summary: Malcolm visits Nico in the hospital.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Nico Stavros
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86





	Pretty Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This is a drabble I did for someone on tumblr. Feel free to request more stuff for Prodigal Son!

He can’t feel his hand.

He can’t see it either. It’s wrapped up in a big ball of Ace bandages and cloth and surgical tape. It lies next to him on the hospital bed like a dead fish at his side. The doctors and nurses instructed him under no circumstances to touch it or move it. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to.

A soft knock on the door shakes him out of his stupor and makes him look up. A nurse wearing pale blue scrubs stands in the doorway. “Nico, there’s a visitor here to see you.”

He perks up. A visitor? It can’t be his mother. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He doubts it’s any of his clients. The nurse disappears and is replaced by a head poking into the room. Somewhere in the mess of his muddled memories does he recognize the stranger’s wild, blue eyes.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

He wants to shrug, but he can’t, so he settles for a murmured, “Sure,” instead.

He pushes the door wide open and hesitantly steps across the threshold. Only once he’s inside the room is Nico able to place him. He was the one who had found him locked up by that psycho in his own apartment. His brown hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a navy blue suit. He remembers thinking he was attractive through his paralyzing fear while he was chained to that chair, at least until he cut off his hand.

He stands in front of his hospital bed, hands clasped behind his back and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He has a nervous, awkward energy about him. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“I do,” he croaks out. His throat is bone dry, and he wishes he could grab the glass of water on his bedside table, but he had to have the nurse help him drink last time, and the last thing he’s going to do is ask this handsome stranger for a favor.

He does remember him, though. He remembers everything, at least up until he chopped off his hand. After that, it was all a mess of red and white and searing pain and bright light and hands and panicked voices. Then, everything got dark, and he woke up here.

“How are you feeling?” He freezes at his own words and looks down at his shoes, his face reddening. “Maybe that’s a stupid question.”

He clenches his jaw. “I’m as good as I can be for having lost a hand.” He’s not sure if he meant for his voice to come out as hard and bitter as it did.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “I... brought you something.” He reveals what he was hiding behind his back: a bouquet of white carnations and red chrysanthemums. He holds them in his hands and smiles at him proudly with a wide grin on his face.

Nico furrows his brow. “You got me flowers?”

His smile falters slightly, twitches at the corners of his lips, but he quickly recovers. “I don’t know. It felt like the right thing to do for someone whose hand you cut off,” he jokes, laughing halfheartedly. Nico doesn’t. He sets them down on the bedside table.

“Why did you come visit me?” he asks.

His lips part, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I felt kind of guilty. After all, I am the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Nico sighs. “I guess I should thank you. If it weren’t for you, I would be a pile of ashes right now, plus I really didn’t wanna die in that shitty apartment.”

His smile returns and he sits next to him on the bed. “Maybe we should start over.” He holds out his hand. “Hi. I’m Malcolm.”

With what little strength Nico can gather, he lifts his good arm and places his weak, frail hand in his. His skin is warm. “I’m Nico. It’s nice to meet you.”

He gives his hand a firm shake before retracting his arm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Nico.” He glances down at his watch. “Shit. I’m late for work.” He hops off the bed and heads towards the door. “Maybe we can continue this later,” he looks at Nico hopefully, “if you’d like to have me back.”

It doesn’t take long for him to answer, “Yeah, I would like that.”

Malcolm’s smile grows bigger. “Great. See you later.”

He’s halfway out the door when Nico stops him, “Malcolm?”

He turns around, bright-eyed and expectant.

“The flowers are pretty.”


End file.
